


donuts and moodrings

by emotionalpanda



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Marriage, POV Sameen Shaw, Season/Series 04, but like their version of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalpanda/pseuds/emotionalpanda
Summary: "With a roll of her eyes, Shaw gives in and opens the box. Of course it’s a ring. She knew it would be, but there’s something about the ring that makes Shaw lean in closer to study it.It’s changing colors.“I don’t do marriage proposals, Root. And I definitely don’t do colors.”(how maybe they're married in their own root and shaw way)
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Comments: 17
Kudos: 172





	donuts and moodrings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bethchildz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethchildz/gifts).



They don’t get married in any traditional way. 

The idea’s a little too much for Shaw. She looks good in white (and knows it), but she was never into dolls as a kid and she sure as hell won’t agree to look like one now. 

Not even for steak. 

* * *

Root knows that a wedding ceremony is off limits, Shaw thinks, because Root never pushes the concept. She just sits and accepts any affection Shaw throws at her. Even if it’s never enough, it’s somehow enough for Root. Thinking about it gives Shaw a headache. 

Shaw’s in the subway when she hears the familiar click of heeled boots on hard floors. _Root._

“Hey, sweetie,” Root says. She reaches into her messenger bag, feeling around with one hand until she pulls out a small package. 

“What is that?” Shaw asks. Sure, she’s in her thirties now, but that doesn’t mean she’s one to turn down presents.

“Kiss kiss to you too!” Root teases, “Now, if you must know… I took a little trip.” 

Shaw glares, “Don’t tell me you stole a jet without me. Not cool, Root.”

“Not that kind of trip, Sam. Though I’m sure the bears in Anchorage appreciated your presence. I know I did,” Root winks.

Shaw rolls her eyes with a small smile before looking down to Root’s hands. 

“Did you get that on your trip?” Shaw asks. She tries to keep her voice sounding as bored and uninterested as possible (she can only handle so many of Root’s failed winks). 

Shaw refuses to admit that she’s curious, but something in her must give it away because Root’s looking at her like Shaw just said the best possible thing. 

Root smiles. It’s the kind of smile that only appears when Shaw asks Root questions about her day. It’s a smile that makes Shaw want to try and try and try.

_Whatever that means_.

“I did,” Root replies.

Root sets the bag down in front of Shaw and Shaw immediately rips into it like a shark with a seal. Shreds of tissue paper float into the air as she digs.

She finds a small box and her stomach flips.

“Root…” 

It’s a ring box. 

Root plays dumb, “What’s the problem, sweetie?” 

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Root asks, coy. Her eyes are wide and soft like a puppy claiming innocence. 

Shaw groans.

With a roll of her eyes, Shaw gives in and opens the box. Of course it’s a ring. She knew it would be, but there’s something about the ring that makes Shaw lean in closer to study it.

It’s changing colors.

“I don’t do marriage proposals, Root. And I definitely don’t do colors.” 

“Who said anything about marriage proposals? It’s a mood ring, Shaw, it doesn’t have teeth. It’s not going to bite you.” 

“Whatever,” Shaw says, “I’m still not going to wear it.”

Root reaches out to touch Shaw’s arm. The warmth of Root’s hand doesn’t feel bad, Shaw thinks, she might even say it feels good. It’s hard wanting to be touched but not knowing what to do when the touch actually happens. 

Shaw knows how to process things like sex. It’s all endorphins and animal instinct. Sex is just like hunger, and Shaw is good at eating. She knows how to use her mouth to make Root writhe, knows what finger angle will make her shiver. She knows how tight to tie the zip ties and how softly she should kiss Root’s inner thighs. She knows where to bite and how to make a bruise feel blissful. 

It’s all about the neurons, all about anatomy, all a language she knows how to speak. 

It’s the casual touches that don’t compute, like Root touching Shaw’s arm just because Root can. Touch for the sake of touching, with no expectation of a return. 

Root looks Shaw in the eyes and the smallest smile graces Root’s lips. 

“I never said you had to wear it. I just wanted it to be yours.”

* * *

They’re on a mission. Some idiot of a number gets himself in trouble with a local gang. They always get in trouble with gangs. It’s always something stupid like small bags of cocaine or a few hundred dollars missing from a deal. 

Usually, it’s not a very high risk job. Shaw shoots a few kneecaps (at most) and calls it a day.

This time though, one egotistical dickhead gets too huffy and aims a gun at Root’s head. The shake in his hands tells Shaw that this guy hasn’t killed anyone before. He’s barely in his twenties and looks like an angry baby, but he’s an angry baby with a gun aimed at Root. 

Well, _that’s_ not allowed to happen. Shaw won’t let it. Not now. 

The idea of a life without Root, annoying as Root is, makes Shaw angry in a way that flips her stomach. The stomach flipping makes her even angrier because it’s something too close to fear. It’s too close to a feeling that she hasn’t learned how to communicate just yet. 

She wants to have enough time to communicate that feeling.

(And that can’t happen if Root dies on some stupid sidewalk.)

Shaw clenches her jaw, and in one quick move, she pushes Root out of the way with one hand and shoots the man in the stomach with her other hand. Kneecaps aren’t enough this time. She can’t chance it, not when Root’s life is at stake. 

The guy clutches his bleeding stomach and glares at her. The gun in his hand clatters to the ground and slides out of reach. Shaw sighs in relief.

“That wound can kill you if you let it,” Shaw calls out to the guy, “Lucky for you, there’s a hospital a block away. If you get the hell out of here fast enough, you might live...” She pauses to look him over, “I’d start walking if I were you.” 

Shaw turns to Root to make sure she’s unharmed. Her eyes scan Root’s body for traces of blood; she checks Root’s leather jacket for bullet holes. 

Root is safe. 

“See something you like?” Root asks. Her voice is playful in that nervous way, that _I almost died so now it’s time to flirt with you_ kind of voice. There’s a smile on her face but there’s sadness in her eyes, like she’s grieving something that hasn’t happened. It’s something Shaw’s seen before, those watery eyes, and the look buzzes in Shaw’s brain like an annoying fly. She’s willing to do anything to make those eyes stop watering. 

So, she throws Root a bone.

“Maybe I do.”

Later, when Shaw is alone and fed up with the concept of death, she rips into the box again.

She shoves that stupid, colorful ring on her finger.

She puts it on her left hand, not because of _that_ , definitely not. She puts it there because she shoots with her right hand and she can’t get distracted by lilac shifting to cyan when she needs to shoot a perpetrator. 

It’s efficient. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

* * *

Root has never made sense to Shaw. Root’s a collection of contradictions wrapped up in an annoyingly hot body. She’s a walking oxymoron that Shaw spends too much time with. 

Shaw has spent enough time with Root to know that Root forgets to eat more often than not. Root jumps from apple to apple like she’s a video game character hunting for fruit fuel. Shaw knows that it isn’t healthy (she _did_ go to med school after all), but she’s not sure that Root would listen if Shaw mentioned it. 

Shaw finds the loophole: Root has a weakness. There’s a way to get Root to eat more than just three-point-two-five red delicious apples. 

If Shaw brings Root food, Root eats it. She could bring Root anything, and as long as it was some degree of edible, Root would eat it with a smile. 

Shaw starts bringing Root snacks: little things, easy things, like donuts from a bakery that Shaw already frequents. There’s plausible deniability there, something that sounds like _I did this for me. I ordered a full dozen of donuts just for me and I’m only letting you steal one or two of them because I’m trying to be nice. I definitely didn’t do all this just to make sure you’re eating. No._

One day, a day where Shaw brings donuts, Root swallows a bite of chocolate glazed and speaks up, “You know, if this is your Shaw way of matching rings, I don’t mind.” 

Shaw nearly spits out her Boston cream, half chewed. The truth of it hits her like a slap in the face. Shaw refuses to admit it out loud, but from the look on Root’s face, Root must know that she’s right. 

Root continues, “I know you’re pretending like you’re not wearing the ring I gave you, and I get that, but you have to admit, sweetie, the lilac’s a little eye catching, don’t you think? It’s my favorite.” 

Shaw takes another bite of her donut and asks a muffled, “Why?”

“Why is it my favorite? Well, according to the mood ring emotion guide, lilac means you’re feeling romantic.”

“It’s just a color,” Shaw replies. 

“Maybe it is,” Root smiles, “But it’s the color of the ring that you’re wearing because you think it makes me happy, and isn’t that romantic?” 

Shaw rolls her eyes at Root and it’s something like an admission. 

* * *

They don’t get married in any traditional way, no, that would be too normal. 

Ceremonies aren’t their thing. 

Their rings aren’t real rings; their vows are never spoken. Promises like _I’d take a bullet for you_ don’t need to be said, they just exist as a constant state of truth. Every _pow_ of a gun proves it.

They sleep in the same bed more often than not, a barely comfortable mattress next to a purple shag rug. The rug reminds Shaw of lilac mood rings and promises that aren’t quite promises, of lanky arms that are always willing to hold her (even when she thinks she’s not worthy of being held). 

When Shaw sees purple, she thinks of Root: her coworker, her donut stealer, her dog co-parent, her hacker in residence, her friend…

Her wife. (Sort of.)

**Author's Note:**

> i rewatched the whole show recently and have spiraled back into the obsession. first fic for these two! i cant get them out of my head, oops


End file.
